


(Un)holy Mess

by toxicdotaep (RacheTanz)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Airplane Crashes, Grim Reapers, both of these characters are in their mid-twenties btw, despite the subject matter i dont think it's too gruesome, don't worry it's mostly explained in the work, first person POV, honestly if youre curious about them feel free to comment questions, my own weird 'mythology' on how they work, theres a lot more than i put in this work, theres a lot of swearing though so it's teen-and-up for that, written from the perspective of one of the reapers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28011666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RacheTanz/pseuds/toxicdotaep
Summary: This is a short story I wrote for my Narrative and Storytelling class. It takes place in the world of my original story currently called "Red n Blue" (a WIP title--) but you don't have to already know me or my work to understand it, as I'm treating this as an introduction to the world/general concept.Two Grim Reapers are assigned to take care of a plane crash. One of them hasn't even been on a plane before.
Relationships: there are only platonic relationships in this work
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	(Un)holy Mess

“This is gonna be a trainwreck.”

“No, it’s gonna be a _plane_ wreck. Get it _right_ , Red.”

The aircraft was crowded. I really, really wished it weren’t, but well, if it weren’t, there wouldn’t’ve been the two of us here. I sighed and kicked my purse further under the seat in front of me. My best friend and I don’t often get assigned to the same cases, mainly because I’m fairly sure our bosses know my buddy Blue is about two minutes and an uncharacteristic burst of energy away from starting a mutiny and they’re afraid if I joined in it might actually work, but this, evidently, needed the both of us. Or maybe their system just fucked up and happened to stick us together against all odds. Hard to tell.

I buckled the lap belt. Blue was still struggling with theirs, making vague confused noises for a moment before finally figuring out how to loosen the strap enough to wind around them. Then they had to tighten it back up, because they’d loosened it too much. “Hey, how tight’s it s’posed to be?”

“Uhm… I don’t know. It’s not a _rollercoaster_ or anything, but—Maybe tighten it up a fair bit? It’ll be a bumpy ride.” I shrugged. I had never been in a plane crash before, and I was getting nervous. I fiddled with the lap belt, looked around, tried not to think about the fact that everyone on this plane would never reach their destination. People were still filing in, shuffling along, putting their baggage in the overhead carriers. Settling down for what should be a fairly mundane ride. Should be, but wouldn’t be. I heard a mother and her child a few rows away, the mother explaining how the seatbelt worked. An old man behind me coughed. All these people going about completely ordinary, mundane lives. How many were coming home from vacations? Going on vacations? Coming back from work trips? How many would they leave behind? I was getting nauseous.

Blue’s voice broke through my thoughts, thank God. “Y’know, I never got t’go on a plane while I was alive.”

That surprised me. Not the fact itself—that wasn’t unusual, I knew Blue grew up and lived too poor for anything like that—but, well, ‘while I was alive’ is a whole genre of conversation Blue and I rarely visit. We’ve both been undead quite a while now. They’re not a nostalgic person by any means and the few facts they’ve let slip through the cracks tell me exactly why. I can relate. “I only ever went once or twice,” I replied lightly, “on school trips. But it’s been quite a while.”

“Is this usually how it goes?” They looked around warily. “All… cramped?”

“I think so. I told you, it’s been a while.”

Blue seemed uneasy. They shifted in their seat, glanced around again. “This is a lotta people to jam in one spot. How’s the plane even gonna fly?”

I snorted. “Dude…”

“A’ight, a’ight, fine, _that’s_ stupid—but still, man.”

“I get it,” I replied. Things had changed a lot. This plane looked totally different from the ones I remembered from my school days, and it was interesting to look at. Modern, sleek. Smelled funny. The seats felt shittier, or maybe I just weighed enough this time round to register how uncomfortable the lack of cushioning was. We got quiet again for a minute. I people-watched while Blue did something-or-other with their hands, bored stiff. This was going to be difficult in more ways than one, I was realizing. Both in terms of ‘tagging’ all of these hundred-some-odd people (alright, maybe there weren’t quite _that_ many, but it sure felt like it) and in terms of actually experiencing this thing. People kept shuffling in, lined-up like ants, until there were no more seats and no more people to be seated, and then the flight attendants walked up and down, securing bags. Some part of me wanted to tell them not to bother. Some part of me wanted to let them know this was their last flight, give them a chance to say their goodbyes properly, do whatever they wanted to in their last hours. But we weren’t allowed to do that, and I had to keep my mouth shut. It hurt.

“What’s up?” Blue asked quietly, and I glanced over. Their eyes were scanning my face.

“I’m not gonna like this,” I admitted.

They nodded. “Yeah, me neither. But who _likes_ their jobs, amirite?” They cracked a stiff sharp-toothed smirk for a second and I tried to laugh. It came out a bit forced, but at least we were both trying here. There was a little dinging noise, and then a voice reverberated through the plane, the pilot explaining what to do in case of emergency and all that. While it had been a while since I’d heard it, it sounded largely unchanged, so I barely paid attention. I turned to make some quip to Blue only to see them staring upward, toward where the sound was coming from, listening carefully, and I remembered again that all of this was new to them, so I kept my mouth shut.

“…and once again, we thank you for choosing [AIRLINE NAME REDACTED],” the pilot finished, and with a click and some static the speakers shut off. We continued to sit silently for a moment until I realized something.

“Hey, uh… How do you think we’ll reach the pilot?”

“Can’t ya just go up to him?”

I looked at them like they were nuts. “No? Since when could—?”

“Dude, _I_ ’on’t know. It’s just a door up there, right?”

“Yeah, guarded by flight attendants. And probably locked so that, y’know, nobody can hijack the plane.”

“ _Hijack the_ —Oh.” They froze for a second, then looked at me. “That’s what we’re gonna have to do, isn’t it?”

“No,” I replied immediately, more out of fear than actual belief we wouldn’t have to do that, “No, there’s gotta be another way.”

“If that’s the _only_ way we can get to the pilot, then—”

“No, no, _no_.” I snapped, and they put their hands up in surrender. We both fell quiet. The old dude stuck beside us who’d previously been staring very pointedly out the window to avoid us and our brightly-dyed hair and ‘rebellious youth’ aesthetics was now giving us the most-alarmed side-eye I’ve ever seen a man give anyone, and I wanted to kick Blue in the shins. At least with him being stuck there, he’d have a bit of a hard time telling anyone. I did feel bad for making him anxious. Besides, sitting next to Blue when you don’t know them is a bit of a curse in and of itself. He was basically being held hostage by our very presence, the poor man.

He seemed to realize his position as being a uniquely vulnerable one, in a way, and he shifted just a bit to look at us. “So, where are you two…fine kids going?” The gentleman asked, examining us with wary eyes but a friendly smile.

“Wherever the plane ends up,” Blue replied. “It ain’t goin’ far.”

“Blue!” I hissed, punching them in the ribs. “For fuck sake!”

“OW!” They buckled, then glared at me. “ **What**?! I’m not gonna _lie_ to an old man!”

The old man looked like he regretted opening his mouth. I went into Damage Control Mode. “I’m _so_ sorry. They have just… the _worst_ sense of humor. We’re headed to—” I quickly glanced down to the boarding pass still clutched in my hand— “Baltimore. Visiting my family.”

He nodded in that way people do when they for certain do _not_ believe what you’re telling them, but _do_ firmly believe you’re insane, and they’re hoping if they just nod and smile and back away slowly you won’t even notice. Afraid of violence. A sensible fear given who he was seated next to. I tried to give him a reassuring smile but I think Blue’s perpetual resting bitchface counteracted it a little too much. He turned back to the window uncomfortably.

“Good going, dude,” I growled into their ear, “You know if he freaks out, our job will be _way_ more difficult, right?”

“Who cares? We can tag ’em _after_ they’re dead, too.”

“But it hurts that way!” I snapped back. “You _know_ it does! Come _on_ , dude!”

They shrank down in their seat a little, hunching their shoulders. “Sorry,” they mumbled, crossing their arms. I sighed and straightened back up again, hands to my temples, eyes shut for a moment. The plane began to move and I felt my stomach drop in anxiety.

Most people, when staring the knowledge that something is going to go horribly wrong right in the face, will of course be inclined to get the fuck outta dodge before things go any further south. If they _can_ , that is. Some people will take it upon themselves to try and fix the problem, regardless of whether or not it’s theirs in the first place, but most people just want to save themselves and their loved ones. And I don’t say this like “everyone should help, actually,” nor do I say this as “helping isn’t always helpful,” either, but I say this in the sense of: those are the two most-common choices a normal person is presented with. And most normal people don’t often have to undergo this kind of moment. For me, this will be my second “I’m about to witness something awful” today and my fifth this week, and it’s only Tuesday. That’s just part of our jobs. It’s not so bad once you get used to it, funny enough. Blue’s a little bitter about it, but frankly, becoming a Grim Reaper was the best thing that’d ever happened in my life. Granted, it technically happened after my life had ended, but honestly, I tend to think of myself as still living. It might make the job harder, emotionally, but I don’t want to contemplate the alternative.

Blue is in the same boat, but unlike me, they don’t really see it like a blessing anymore. They’ve been at this longer than me, so I’m going to pretend their attitude is an ‘experience versus naivete’ kind of thing. Mainly because every now and then when I have to confront their tactless apathy I get a little uneasy. To be fair to them, though, bigger events like this did make them uneasy. Nice to see they still were a _little_ bit human.

One thing I always forget about planes is they have to get in a queue to go anyplace. Somehow, I always figure we’ll just pull away from the loading station and go right away. Instead we kinda just sit around for a little bit before getting in line, slowly scooting along until we reach the runway. That’s really when the journey begins.

The plane straightened out along the runway, and then the engines flared to life, to their full potential, and we barreled down the long stretch of concrete. There was that feeling I’d almost forgotten, the sense of being subtly pressed back into my chair as the plane tilted back, accelerated into the sky. I glanced over to see how Blue was holding up to find them white-knuckle-gripping the armrests, teeth clenched, staring directly ahead with that deeply-uncomfortable, borderline-panic look I so rarely see from them. I felt a little bad; I should’ve warned them. “Don’t worry about it, that’s supposed to happen.”

Their eyes darted over to me and they quietly barked, through clenched teeth, “What?”

The plane leveled out as I said, “That’s just what the ascension feels like, man.”

“Jesus Christ, that was _just_ the takeoff?” They asked almost incredulously.

“Yyyyyep,” I replied with a pop of the lips on ‘p.’ “The crash is gonna be way way _worse_ , buddy.”

They looked dizzy. It was pretty surprising to see them so rattled. They sunk down in their seat. “I’m’onna throw up,” they groaned quietly.

“Well, they’ve got baggies for that.”

* * *

The flight was _meant_ to be roughly three hours long. Around the one-and-a-half hour mark I could tell things were going wrong.

You see, the fun part—and by ‘fun’ I mean ‘stupid and annoying’—about the way our jobs are structured is we’re usually just given a place, time, and name. In cases like these, it’s a place, time, flight number, and in this exact _specific_ case the word “all.” I’ve had a few times where it’s been just one or two names on the flight, but I supposed in absolute catastrophes it would be foolish to write each and every single name. They’d run out of room. Anyways, I bring this up because our flight was taking us across time zones, rendering the ‘time’ portion fairly moot. When were we meant to get up and tag people? I try to do that around five or so minutes before the event, because it can have some… adverse effects on the psyche to do it too early. And it’s definitely no good to leave them in their bodies until _after_. I’d been through that and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But now we really had no clue when, exactly, this crash would happen—was it shortly after the start of the complications? Would we just slowly burn out? I couldn’t tell but the way the plane began to shudder just a bit and the fact all the flight attendants casually hustled to the cockpit wasn’t a good sign.

“I think this is our cue,” Blue commented. Our ‘hostage,’ the old man, had fallen asleep.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, I know. No way around it, buddy.”

We stood, and shuffled into the aisle between the seats. I closed my eyes just to give myself a moment’s peace where I could pretend I was anywhere but here, and summoned my scythe.

The cool thing about being a Grim Reaper is, if you don’t want people to see you, they won’t. Not like they’re suddenly blind or you’re genuinely invisible, but in the way where—Well, let’s say you go into a coffee shop, alright? It’s crowded in there, but everyone’s working on things, so it’s mostly quiet. You don’t register the face of everyone you pass, not all of the time. Mostly it’s a feature here and there: that guy’s got a beard, that woman’s wearing a funny hat, that person’s got some cool jeans. The people you barely notice become background noise. You know someone is there, you’re not gonna accidentally sit on them in search of a seat of your own. You see them, but you don’t _really_. You don’t look at them in a way that makes you know them. That’s our ability—to willingly become background noise, another face in the crowd even if there’s no real crowd to be seen. It makes things like this much easier.

I opened my eyes again and hefted the scythe. Mine was quite nicely shiny (by my own efforts, thank you very much), glowed a faint pinkish hue at the edges, and was a bit taller than me, which was a little clumsy to deal with in these tight conditions but not unmanageable. “I’ll head to the front,” I replied. “You head to the back. Come meet me up front if I can’t get into the cockpit.”

They nodded and, with a twirl of their own chipped-bladed, dark turquoise-edged scythe, turned to do as I’d suggested. I was hoping I could use what charisma I had (not that it was much, just, more than Blue had) to charm, cajole, or lightly bully my way into the cockpit. I hadn’t any clue under what sort of pretext I’d make a case for my entry but I figured whatever I could come up with would be better than Blue’s go-to “let me do what I want or I’ll punch you in the face” which, let me tell you, does not always work. In fact, it _rarely_ works, unless your definition of it working is getting yourself banned from yet another establishment.

I gently reached over and tapped the old man on the forehead with the very tip of my scythe’s blade. He wouldn’t feel it, not any more than you feel any other errant unexplainable shiver in your body, and that, too, was very useful. I walked calmly along the rows, gently brushing every passenger with my scythe, and tried to think of it more like a very delicate game of connect-the-dots than anything to do with life and death. It was all just avoidance tactics, I knew, and the way I forced myself to think about things never changed them, but any rationalization or abstraction that helped me do my stupid job was welcome.

The front of the plane came on too soon. By then, people had begun to feel something was wrong, it was more obvious; the plane shivered, and then the pilot came over the intercom. “We’re experiencing some difficulties, ladies and gentlemen, so please remain seated for the time being. Thank you.”

I’d always wondered what the protocol was for situations like these. Do they tell people? Do they lie? Do they lie only up until they can’t anymore? The fear in the other passengers was palpable, hanging in the air like little clouds over most of them. Some still seemed unaffected; I heard one guy muttering something to the kid next to him about rough turbulence. It made my chest ache for them, for all of them. But I kept myself level-headed, just detached enough to keep carefully gliding my blade over them, disconnecting them. I took a little solace in knowing they wouldn’t be able to feel the pain of it. I just wish I could’ve stripped their fears and inevitable regrets, too.

By the time I reached the very front of the plane I… still didn’t have a plan. I nudged the flight attendants with my scythe, and then, hesitantly, I cleared my throat. “Um, excuse me…”

They whirled around to look at me like I’d gone nuts, having been unable to hear or sense my approach. One found their voice before the others, and said in an oddly calm tone, that sort of customer-service calm you get from having to deal with all manner of absolute dumbasses in all manner of stressful situations day in and day out, “Ma’am, please return to your seat.”

“Yeah, um, I can’t do that yet,” I replied, “I need to talk to the pilot.” I tried to keep my tone as neutral and nonconfrontational as possible. I really didn’t want to be adding to their stress right now.

“Ma’am, we are experiencing an emergency situation, we need you to go back to your seat. The pilot is _busy_.”

“I don’t—Listen, they don’t even gotta respond to me, I don’t even gotta be in arms reach of them, I just need to _talk_ _to_ them.”

“ _Ma’am_ —” They were getting less friendly now, all three of them, standing up straighter. One put their hand on my arm to push me back and I tried to surreptitiously wiggle out of their grasp before it would inevitably tighten. I wondered, briefly, if there was any kind of training they went through to subdue people. Did I have to worry about these three pulling some ninja moves on me? I didn’t know how to fight, that was Blue’s area of expertise.

“Less than five minutes. Please?” I flashed a smile. They all looked at me like they were really trying to perceive me, and it made me a little nervous, because before now, nobody had ever noticed the scythe—I wasn’t even sure humans _could_ —but if they did, it for sure was not the kind of thing TSA would’ve let go through, and that would definitely raise a lot of questions. “Really, it won’t be any big deal, I won’t cause any problems—”

I wish I had spoken faster, because I heard footsteps approaching behind me, right before Blue’s voice called out, “Move over, assholes, this is life or death bullshit.”

I sighed inwardly as the now very insulted flight attendants lost whatever patience they had left, all stiff backs and firm-set customer-service smiles, the sort that barely contained their anger. I took a step back, bumping into the bathroom door, then clumsily traded places with Blue to let them handle this. Just as they were opening their mouth (to say something else belligerent, I’m sure), the door to the cockpit popped open and the copilot leaned out, looking like he was about to say something. He caught sight of both of us and froze, clearly startled—everyone was supposed to still be seated, after all—but before he could say anything Blue bonked him in the face with their scythe. He stepped back, clutching his forehead, confused, exposing the pilot; Blue leaned forward and prodded her with their scythe, too, then turned around to walk away like nothing had happened. “There. Easy shit.” They said to me, and I glanced over their shoulder for a moment to see the copilot rubbing his forehead in complete confusion, saying something about some kind of brain-freeze feeling, while the flight attendants looked deeply unsure of what to do next. I had to wonder if they could even see anything in place of the scythe, or if the copilot had just had the most confusing five seconds of his life. Poor bastard, at least it’d all be over soon.

“Well, now what?” I thought aloud, looking out across the passengers. I felt queasy, and not from the way the plane was moving.

“Now we wait,” Blue replied apathetically.

I opened my mouth to say something else, or suggest we wait in our seats, but all that came out was a sudden yelp of “shit!” as the plane suddenly began to nosedive. I grabbed onto Blue’s arm impulsively, trying to steady myself, and we both stumbled, gravity seeming to shift under us. That was when the screaming started. I’ll admit, I was part of it. Blue, however, wasn’t, at least not verbally. Their jaw was locked and their skin was alarmingly pale and they didn’t let out so much as a peep, but their eyes screamed plenty loud enough.

At the very least, it didn’t last long.

The crash felt cataclysmic. Loud and abrupt and everything went dark for an indeterminate amount of time before I was just suddenly aware again. It wasn’t like waking up, it was like missing time. I could hear fire, I could hear what sounded like a lot of dirt and metal shifting as I tried to move, and when I opened my eyes my vision was blurred for the first ten or so blinks. I was lying on my back, something heavy squashing my legs, and the first thing I did was start coughing. The air was clogged with what I wanted to believe was just ash from the trees we obliterated. I knew it wasn’t, though. I sat up, shoved a piece of wreckage off my legs, and gingerly got to my feet, stumblingly, full of pain for a second before my Reaper healing factor kicked in and suddenly (after a bit of an agonizing spasm) I was just fine again, like nothing had happened. I stood amongst the wreckage, covered in dirt and ash and what I hoped weren’t burnt human remains, and coughed a good few times more before finally I could breathe. There was smoke everywhere, of course, and it made my eyes water. “Christ,” I wheezed, “Christ.”

There was a groan and then a piece of wreckage behind me shifted, and I turned. Blue was picking themselves up, hacking, dusting off their torn jeans, swearing and grumbling in a crackling voice as they walked over to me on stiff legs. They cleared their throat and spat something out on the ground. “Well!” They straightened up, clapped their hands. A little cloud of dust erupted from their palms but they didn’t pay any attention to it. “Great! I’m never gettin’ on a goddamn plane ever again.”

“I don’t blame you,” I replied. 

All around us, hazy human forms were rising from the wreckage. I watched. Blue watched, too, as they fished around in their jacket pockets for a moment before withdrawing a box of cigarettes. For once, they offered one to me, which I declined. I don’t like to smoke much and honestly this situation had enough burning going on that I couldn’t imagine what compelled them to add to it. They lit one up, tucked the box away, and we both stood silent as brilliant-white wisps of humanity stood for a moment above their bodies’ final resting places before drifting up into the sky.

“Where d’you think people _go_ , in mass deaths like this?” Blue asked suddenly. “There wasn’t any door like usual. I didn’t even talk to nobody. You think they all go to a _collective_ Great Beyond, or…?”

“I don’t know,” I replied. “I’d figured _you’d_ know.”

There was quiet for a moment save for the hissing of the remaining fires, and then Blue said, softly, “I wonder sometimes if they even _get_ one when there’s no door. But I think they all just slip into their own heaven-or-whatevers like a dream. You know? Just like fallin’ asleep. They’re all in their own spaces, same as everyone else. Just a different way to get there.”

I didn’t have a counter-offer. If it made sense to Blue, then it was probably likely.

Something occurred to me then and I sighed. “My purse got totally pulverized, didn’t it?”

“Uhh,” Blue looked back at the wreckage. “Yeah, probably, man.” I groaned and hung my head. “Hope ya didn’t have too much cash in there.”

“I didn’t,” I mumbled, thankful for that at least.

“You oughta buy a fireproof one. Or just get a fuckin’ heavy-duty briefcase.” They stretched, a few bones in their back snapping uncomfortably-loudly, then turned and started walking back the way the plane had flown in. “C’mon, we gotta find our own way home now.”

“Ugh, god,” I groaned, turning to follow them with heavy, tired, upset steps. I’d completely forgotten that. “This is so unfair.”

They twisted to grin at me. “That’s life, Red.”


End file.
